


You Love Me (Admit It)

by tamerofdarkstars



Category: One Piece
Genre: Conversations, Discussion of feelings, Friends to Friends but This Time Out Loud and Acknowledged, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pre-Slash, Romantic Friendship, as in, the boys admit they have them
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-10
Updated: 2020-07-10
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:33:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25192447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tamerofdarkstars/pseuds/tamerofdarkstars
Summary: Zoro glared in her direction again, but all it did was make Nami roll her eyes. “I don’t understand why it’s so hard for the two of you to just admit that you care about each other,” she grumbled.
Relationships: Roronoa Zoro/Vinsmoke Sanji
Comments: 13
Kudos: 285





	You Love Me (Admit It)

**Author's Note:**

> set vaguely post-enies lobby, pre-thriller bark but really this could be anywhere pre-time skip

It probably said something to how he was feeling that he didn’t even notice Nami approaching until she’d spoken.

“You know how I can tell you’ve got a lot on your mind?”

Zoro swore harshly, breath leaving him in a rasp as he froze mid-push-up. A bead of sweat trailed down his nose and landed with a plop on the deck as he looked up, arms trembling with exertion. He was well beyond what he should be doing, with his injury. Chopper was going to murder him.

But Chopper wasn’t there. Nami was alone, leaning against the railing with her arms folded across her chest, scowling down at him.

He sucked in a breath, dropping his head and went back to doing push-ups.

“Hey,” Nami snapped. “Pay attention.”

“Go away,” Zoro grunted. He didn’t want to talk to her. He didn’t want to talk to anyone. All he wanted to do was to continue to do push-ups until he was exhausted enough to collapse without remembering a single thing about the last twelve hours.

Nami sighed, pushing off the edge of the railing. For a moment, Zoro thought she’d walked away – then a sharp pain exploded at the back of his head and he collapsed face-first down onto the deck.

“Nami!” he roared, scrambling upwards to see Nami rolling her shoulder back, fist still cocked, an irritated scowl on her face. “What the hell?”

“Seemed the fastest way to get you to stop training yourself to death for five seconds,” she said darkly and Zoro groaned, sitting back on the deck and reaching up to drag his hands down his face, wiping away some of the sweat. His arms were heavy and clumsy with exhaustion and he had to concede, as much as he didn’t want to, that maybe Nami had a point.

She watched him for a moment, still frowning, before her expression softened, just a bit. “You know no one will bring it up if you don’t want them to, right?” she said.

Zoro flinched. “You are,” he muttered and Nami snorted.

“Yeah, well...”

She hesitated for a moment before crossing the deck and dropping down beside him. She wrinkled her nose. “Geez, you stink.”

Zoro shot her a scowl and she grinned. Zoro dropped his head, feeling his shoulders scream as his muscles protested any sort of movement at all. Nami’s grin faded.

“Listen...” she began but Zoro just shook his head.

“Don’t.”

“Zoro, come on. It’s not a big deal.”

Zoro glared in her direction again, but all it did was make Nami roll her eyes. “I don’t understand why it’s so hard for the two of you to just admit that you care about each other,” she grumbled. “It’s pretty damn clear to the rest of us, even if you both have decided that admitting it is the end of the world.”

There it was. Dread pooled in the pit of his stomach and his jaw clenched as he stared down hard at a knot in the worn wood of the deck.

It… it wasn’t as though he _didn’t_ care about the Cook, alright? Obviously he did. Zoro would lay down his life in an instant for each and every person on the ship, his own dream be damned.

But he and the Cook had a system. They fought together and they fought each other, and they spit words and insults and glares just as easily as they finished each other’s sentences. In the middle of a fight, Zoro barely had to glance around to know that the Cook would be covering any of his blind spots. He’d never had that kind of silent understanding with anyone before.

It was… a lot. Too much, sometimes. It was much easier to roll his eyes and bite off a sarcastic comment than it would be to admit that he caught himself more than once wondering what he’d taste like. Probably those damn cigarettes.

Zoro sighed and closed his eyes, letting the fight drain from his shoulders. Nami wasn’t going to let this go, so he might as well get this horrible conversation over with.

“Scared the shit outta me today,” he muttered. He shifted a bit so he was sitting against the railing, leaning back against it. He tipped his head backwards, turning his face up towards the sky. The sun was beginning to set, sending shimmering orange light rippling across the surface of the water.

After a moment, Nami scooted next to him, close enough that her shoulder pressed into his.

“You weren’t the only one,” she said quietly. “It was a lot of blood.”

“I overreacted.”

“You just got to him first. I would have done the same thing. Any of us would have.”

The sight of the blood arcing through the air sliced cleanly though Zoro’s memory. For a split second, the expression on the Cook’s face hadn’t changed, even as he’d staggered with the force of the blow.

“It’s embarrassing,” Zoro grumbled. “Damn idiot can take care of himself. I know that. We all know that.”

Nami shrugged. “Doesn’t mean it’s not terrifying to think you might lose someone you love,” she said easily.

Zoro groaned softly and let his head drop. For a moment they were both silent, the sound of the water lapping gently against the ship the only noise in the clear, cool evening.

Then Nami reached out and patted his knee. “If it makes you feel any better,” she said brightly. “Sanji totally shuts down every time you do something stupid and end up unconscious below deck for a few days.”

Zoro scoffed. Sure, he was aware that the Cook didn’t loathe the sight of him or anything, but Nami was absolutely exaggerating. Zoro bled too much too often for any of them to shut down. It was part of his job, keeping them all safe. Zoro would be the first one to go of any of them; he’d known that since the moment he’d looked into Luffy’s eyes way back at the start of it all. And he knew the Cook would be strong enough to step up and keep them safe in his place whenever the inevitable happened.

Nami rolled her eyes. “I’m not exaggerating,” she said and Zoro squinted at her. He wasn’t completely sure she didn’t have some kind of mind-reading Devil Fruit powers she was just keeping from all of them. “Why do you think we always have interesting new dishes whenever Chopper has managed to drag your ass back from the brink of death again?”

“It is not the _brink_ _of death_ ,” he grumbled and Nami pinched his thigh. He flinched. “Hey!”

“It absolutely has been and you know it,” Nami snapped. “Quit downplaying the shit you’ve done because you’re just as bad as he is.”

Zoro raised an eyebrow at her. “Alright,” he conceded. “But I still think you’re exaggerating when--”

“Where do you think he is now?” Nami pushed herself up, dusting her hands on her thighs before planting them firmly on her hips, looking down at him. “Chopper patched him up and he headed straight for the kitchen. Probably overthinking every single way coming out here to talk to you could go horribly wrong.”

It… wasn’t exactly implausible. Zoro squinted up at Nami, the setting sun behind her lighting her hair on fire. “Suppose – and I’m _not_ saying this,” he growled, irritated at the sight of the grin spreading across Nami’s face, “but just suppose I believed you. What exactly do you think I should do?”

Nami snorted. “Easy.” Her smirk softened, just a bit, into a real smile. “Just go down there and talk to him. Dumbass.”

-

It took Zoro several long minutes to talk himself into it. And not because he thought the Cook would boot him out on his ass or anything – or that he couldn’t handle it if he did – but more because he was starting to suspect that he _wouldn’t_.

And if the Cook didn’t instantly grind out his cigarette and roundhouse kick him in the face, then Zoro might actually have to talk to him.

And _fuck_. Just the _idea_ of it.

“Damn it,” Zoro mumbled, resting his head on the wall just outside the galley door.

He had to go in there. He and the Cook were a team – no matter how sharp the words they slung at each other got, they were a _team_. Zoro couldn’t lose that, just because he’d gone and lost his damn head at the sight of a little bit of blood. He couldn’t let Luffy down like that. As much as he hated to admit it, Nami had had a lot of good points.

He sucked in a breath and stood straight again, ignoring the way his muscles protested, and flung the door to the galley wide open.

It was a little too forceful and crashed into the opposite wall, nearly knocking a row of pans off their hooks.

“Shit!” the Cook exclaimed, leaping away from the counter to grab for the pans. “What the hell is wrong with you?” he snapped, whirling around to face the doorway.

Zoro winced. Not exactly how he’d wanted to start this off. “Sorry,” he grunted, stepping inside the galley. The Cook appraised him, whatever rant he’d clearly been building up to cutting off as he realized it was Zoro standing there.

For a long moment, he and Zoro studied each other, wary, two wounded animals, circling, waiting for the other to break first.

Zoro’s eyes dropped to the Cook’s middle, just below his ribs, and for a moment, his vision was once again seared red with blood. He swallowed, blinked, and it cleared.

“You busy?” he asked, voice low. The Cook was silent for another half a beat before he shook his head.

“Nah. Come in. Shut the door too, would you? Don’t want those idiots up there to smell what I’m doing before I’m done.”

Zoro shut the door behind him as the Cook turned back to the stove, reaching for a long, thin wooden spoon resting on a block beside it. There was a pot there, bubbling quietly, and Zoro realized then that the whole place smelled _incredible_.

“What is it?” he asked, curious despite the thick tension that had settled between them. The Cook dipped the spoon into the broth, lifted it up and tasted it. He closed his eyes as he tasted, something Zoro knew he did to focus more precisely on the way the flavors balanced, and it gave Zoro the opportunity to study him, to look him up and down for any signs of pain, of injury that Chopper might have missed.

Which, of course, was absolutely ridiculous. Chopper didn’t miss injuries, on any of them. But still. Couldn’t hurt anyone if he double-checked.

“Taste?” the Cook asked, turning to him. He held out the spoon and Zoro, never one to pass down any of the Cook’s food, reached for it. His fingers brushed the wood, then the warmth of the Cook’s own fingertips as he steadied it before tasting the broth.

It burst on his tongue – deep and rich, with a hint of sweetness that only served to highlight the spice – and Zoro groaned softly before he could stop himself.

“Damn,” he said, unable to stop the grin from slowly spreading across his face. “That is… shit. That’s really really good.”

He met the Cook’s gaze and was surprised at the expression he caught – fleeting, sure, and gone the moment the Cook realized he was looking, but… well, hell, Zoro wasn’t exactly gonna lie to the man. He was a damn fine cook, everyone knew that. Damn Shit Cook had no right to look so pleased at his reaction.

Zoro realized suddenly that he was still lightly holding onto the spoon, and by extension the Cook’s fingertips, and he dropped his hand quickly, stepping backwards to give him some space.

The Cook turned back to his pot, putting the spoon back on the block. “Glad to hear you like it,” he said, more to the pot than to Zoro himself. “It needs a few more minutes to simmer down completely, but I’m pretty pleased with it so far.”

Damn it, Zoro couldn’t do this. “Listen,” he said. The blood burst in his eardrums, hollow thudding in time to the beat of his heart as the ship rocked steady beneath his feet. “Can we… talk? Or something?”

The Cook didn’t turn around, at first, still intent on the broth. “About what?” he asked.

“Damn it, Cook, you know very well what.”

“I don’t, actually, you stupid moss, so why don’t you enlighten me?”

Zoro bit down on his bottom lip in frustration. The argument was familiar, the insults more natural than their own names at this point, but that wasn’t why Zoro was here. It would be easy to fall back into that pattern, to chew the argument to pieces and then head back up onto the deck to watch the sun finish setting below the edge of the world, but damn it, that _wasn’t why he was here._

Zoro took a deep breath and then let it out slowly. “I just want to clear up a couple of things about today,” he said. He was starting to feel tired, exhaustion creeping into his bones as his body took revenge on him for the push-ups. He just wanted this damn conversation to be over so he could go below deck and sleep.

“Nothing to clear up,” the Cook said and Zoro growled.

“Damn it, Sanji, would you just turn around and let me say what I came down here to say?”

Sanji went still, one hand frozen where he’d been reaching again for that thin, wooden spoon. Then he turned around and faced Zoro. There was something odd in his expression – he looked almost lost, like Zoro had changed the script and now he wasn’t sure what to do next.

“Alright,” he said. There was a beat of uncomfortable silence, broken only by the steady lap of waves from somewhere below their feet.

Well, shit. Now Zoro actually had to talk. He sighed and lowered himself down onto the nearest bench, wincing slightly as it tugged at his still healing stitches. Yeah, alright. Maybe Chopper had had a point when he’d expressly told Zoro that training was out of the question until this one had healed a bit more.

Sanji’s eyes narrowed, his hand halfway to the box of cigarettes in his pocket. “Why do you look like you’re in pain? Did Chopper not give you enough medicine?”

Zoro rolled his eyes. “If anything he gave me too much,” he grumbled. “Shouldn’t waste it. Barely a scratch.”

“Barely a—” Sanji looked thunderous. “You were gutted, you half-brained idiot.”

Zoro scoffed. Gutted! He’d had far worse wounds than this one. This barely even broke the top ten. “What would you know about it?” he snapped back. “You were unconscious by that point.”

Sanji’s expression shuttered and it was as if Zoro had somehow managed to rid the room of all its air at once. “That’s the point, isn’t it?” Sanji asked, voice going flat. “You wouldn’t have needed sixteen stitches across your damn abdomen if I had been a little quicker.”

He reached for the pack of cigarettes and slid one out, tucking the pack away again and sticking the cigarette between his teeth. Zoro frowned, eyes on Sanji’s fingers, the way they trembled slightly as they pinched the cigarette.

“Bullshit,” he said, tearing his eyes from Sanji’s fingertips and back to his face. “I would’ve found something to stick myself with, no doubt. Just so happened you missed it this time.”

Sanji was quiet. He hadn’t lit his cigarette, letting it dangle casually from the corner of his mouth. “I should have been there to watch your back,” he said quietly.

Now this-- this wasn’t how this conversation was supposed to go at all. Zoro scowled at him. “That’s _my_ line, you brainless Cook. That’s what I came down here to say.”

Sanji raised an eyebrow at him and Zoro gestured at him, at where his injury was hidden, bandaged up beneath his shirt.

“You went down,” Zoro gritted out, dropping his hand back to his knee, “because I failed to keep you safe.”

A flash of anger darted across Sanji’s face as he reached for the cigarette, using it to point at Zoro. “I’m not an invalid,” he said hotly. “And I don’t need you to _protect—_ ”

“Obviously, moron,” Zoro interrupted. “You’re strong as hell and good at what you do, but that doesn’t mean that we don’t watch out for each other, right? Shit, I feel way better every time we go into a fight just knowing you’re there.”

It wasn’t exactly a confession Zoro had been planning on ever making, but now that the words had started, they didn’t seem to want to stop. Like they’d been lying dormant someplace deep in his chest and were finally making their break for freedom.

“You went down and it scared the shit out of me,” Zoro muttered, flexing his hands where he’d braced himself on his knees. He found suddenly that he couldn’t look at Sanji anymore, the expression on his face too much for what he was trying to say, and looked down at the floor instead, at a tiny hole in one of the floorboards. “And I thought one of us had finally gotten unlucky. Bound to happen one of these times, right? And...”

Shit, this was way harder than Nami had made it sound. Why the hell was this so damn hard?

“And,” Zoro continued, frowning harder at the floor, “I realized that it would… really piss me off if I had to keep on dragging Luffy’s ass out of danger without you.”

“You’d be fine,” Sanji said, a bit strangled, and Zoro looked back up at that, meeting his eyes.

“No,” he said, feeling the knowledge sweep over him with the same sort of zen calm that he often felt when he’d finally unlocked the trick of a new sword technique. “No, that’s the thing. I don’t think I would be.”

Sanji stared at him, the cigarette dangling from his fingers, completely forgotten. He was studying Zoro as if this were the first time he’d ever seen him, as if he were trying to memorize him, and Zoro felt his skin prickle uncomfortably under the intensity of Sanji’s gaze.

“So, that’s it,” Zoro muttered. “Just wanted to come in here and… and say that.”

“Why?”

The question took Zoro by surprise. Why? “Because...” he said, then faltered. Sanji took a step closer, just one, before he stopped again.

“This doesn’t… we don’t _do_ things like this,” Sanji said, a bit helplessly. “We don’t have conversations like this. We’ve been way closer to death than this. Why now?”

Zoro shrugged one shoulder, then winced as his shoulder shrieked at his brain to knock it off already. “I’m sure the others told you,” he said, feeling heat crawl uncomfortably up his neck at the memory. “I didn’t exactly— er, when you went down, I sort of—”

Sanji raised an eyebrow and Zoro shook his head.

“Never mind,” he muttered. “Point is that maybe we should… y’know. Start.”

“Start?”

Zoro groaned. “Shit, Cook, do I gotta spell the whole thing out for you? Start talking like this. Or… whatever. Not spend every second with you looking for a fight.”

Sanji was quiet for a moment. “It does feel like that sometimes, doesn’t it?” he asked, a half-smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. Zoro felt something inside him sag with relief at the sight of that smile, tentative as it was.

“Sometimes,” he agreed, sitting back on the bench. There was another beat of silence, this time quieter. More comfortable. Zoro swallowed. “I mean,” he said, pulse quickening. “It’s not awful, right? Talking like this?”

Sanji looked at him for a long moment. Then he let out a quick, amused breath, shaking his head, and crossed the galley to Zoro. He sat down beside him, close enough that Zoro could very nearly feel the warmth of his body, but not quite close enough to be touching. Sanji tapped the cigarette against his knee.

“When I went down,” he said, “do you know what the last thing I remember thinking?”

Zoro looked down the length of Sanji’s long legs, to where he’d crossed them at the ankle. “Was it ‘shit, I’m dying’?” he guessed.

Sanji snorted. “No, moss-for-brains. It was actually about you. I could see you, across the way there, and you looked— you looked really really pissed off.”

Zoro felt a chill settle hard in his chest and he looked at Sanji, but Sanji wasn’t looking at him. He was gazing out across the galley, something thoughtful in his expression.

“And I thought ‘I can’t let Zoro down like this’.” Sanji glanced back at him, shrugging one shoulder. “Isn’t that something? I’m bleeding out and all I can think of is getting that look off your face.”

Zoro swallowed. “Shit,” he said weakly. Sanji tipped his head back, tucking the cigarette between his teeth and pulling out his lighter. He lit it and the smell of Sanji’s cigarettes was so familiar that Zoro felt it settle pleasantly in his blood, like a soft hum beneath his skin.

Sanji blew out a soft cloud of smoke. “So what do we do now?” he asked.

Zoro shrugged. “Dunno. Didn’t really think I’d get this far, honestly.”

“Thought I’d kick you in the face?”

“Figured I’d chicken out.”

“The great Roronoa Zoro, Pirate Hunter? Chickening out?”

“Almost didn’t make it through the damn door.”

Sanji laughed, soft and low, and took another drag on the cigarette. “Well, you’re a braver man than I am,” he said.

“Bullshit,” Zoro snorted. “If anything, that’s a tie.”

Sanji smirked. “You made it through the door,” he said, gesturing at the galley door. “I knew exactly where you were, up there. Instead, I was in here making soup.” He took another deep drag and Zoro watched, eyes wandering down to Sanji’s mouth, the color of his lips against the cigarette.

“I can’t actually take the credit,” he admitted. “If Nami hadn’t kicked my ass, I probably would still be up there ignoring Chopper’s no-training-after-lacerations rule.”

Sanji’s smile softened slightly. “Ah, what did we do to deserve Nami-swan?”

Zoro scowled. “No idea, but I’m sure I’ll be paying for it in hell,” he grumbled. Sanji closed his eyes for a moment, resting his head back against the wall.

“Why is it so hard for us to admit we actually give a shit about each other?” he asked and Zoro wondered if he actually expected an answer. Sanji still hadn’t opened his eyes, the cigarette smoking listlessly where he held it between two fingers, hand resting easily against his thigh. Zoro followed the long lines of his body up his chest to his throat, skipping over the hollow at his collarbone and up his neck to his face, to the way the light hit his cheekbones, scattered laugh lines and tiny scars and that damn curl to his eyebrow.

“No idea,” Zoro croaked, the words thick on his suddenly clumsy tongue.

Sanji opened his eyes and stood up, taking one final drag on his cigarette and crossing to the counter to put it out in the ash tray. He exchanged the cigarette for the wooden spoon, dipping it into the broth that had been simmering away the entire time they’d been talking.

He tasted it and the curve of his smile was deeply satisfied. He turned to Zoro, beckoning him closer. “Get over here,” he said, holding out the spoon, “and taste this.”

Zoro stood up, crossing to stand beside Sanji. He took the spoon from him and dipped it in the broth, lifting it to his lips. It was somehow even better than the first time, the flavors richer, the texture luxurious.

“You can’t call the others in here,” he said, dipping the spoon back into the pot. “I want all of this. This is mine. Tell Usopp and Luffy they can get their own damn dinner.”

Sanji watched him for a moment, clearly pleased as he took a third taste, and then a fourth. “Alright, alright, cretin, that’s enough.” He snatched the spoon from Zoro’s hand and Zoro groaned, leaning over the pot to try and inhale the fragrance one more time before Sanji reached past him and lifted the pot off the heat.

“Now that’s just mean,” Zoro complained. Sanji ignored him, moving the pot over to the table and setting it down in the center.

“You love it,” he said, beginning to set out bowls at each of the place settings.

And that—

Well. _That_ conversation would just have to wait for another day.

**Author's Note:**

> (gazing wistfully out the window) when will zoro call sanji by name in canon


End file.
